


Incompatible

by prairiecrow



Category: ReBoot (TV)
Genre: Canon Related, First Time, Flirting, Foe Yay, Forbidden, M/M, Mind Games, Seduction, Verbal Sparring, Xenophilia
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-06-15
Updated: 2012-06-20
Packaged: 2017-11-07 20:29:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,959
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/435122
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/prairiecrow/pseuds/prairiecrow
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Shortly after the events of "The Tearing", Megabyte issues an invitation -- and Bob dares to accept it. Needless to say he ends up getting a lot more than he bargained for...</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> A link to the episode "The Tearing" on YouTube: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wmfKRCqyyjo

Bob's second visit to Megabyte's Tor had thus far confirmed his initial impression of utilitarian efficiency: constructed on a grand scale, true, but fundamentally cold and soulless. The empty hallways he'd passed through to get to the massive scarlet doors at the end of the final corridor had been similarly devoid of personal touches. But as those doors (embossed with Megabyte's symbol in virulent green, of course) swung silently open at his approach to grant him entrance to the cavernous space beyond, he had to confess himself impressed, because there was plenty of personality on display here: richly ornate carpets, subdued illumination, sculptures tastefully showcased in highlighted wall niches, elegant furniture, a color scheme of dark blues with accents of emerald and crimson… and Megabyte himself, sitting at one end of a small couch facing the doorway with his legs crossed at the knee and a delicate tapered glass of glowing red liquid cradled in his left hand, studying a small vidwindow open to his right. Bob couldn't see what was in the window, although he could hear the faint hissing hum of cascading data streams over the muted background music — some classical composer that he didn't know the name of — and he could certainly see that the couch, which was barely five bits long, probably cost more than his own car.  

 _So this is what wealth looks like,_ he thought, casting a quick appreciative glance around the room in a way that was, he judged, not too obvious. And what it smelled like, too: there was a faint scent on the air, subtle but delicious, that reminded Bob of something he couldn't quite seem to remember. Not that he had much time for woolgathering — he was, after all, here at the invitation of a virus he'd recently soundly defeated, and common sense as well as Guardian instinct told him to keep his attention fully focussed on his host.

The couch, with a small floating table in front of it, sat alone in the middle of the large room; Bob had to cross a long stretch of bytes to get to it, and he concentrated on keeping his approach cool and casual. Megabyte didn't even glance up when he came to a halt several bits away… and waited… and frowned… and waited some more... and finally cleared his throat, loudly. 

"Ah, Bob!" Megabyte sounded perfectly jovial, which immediately put Bob on even higher alert. Banishing the vidwindow, the virus turned his intense and unblinking gaze on his guest, and smiled an apology that Bob didn't buy for a single nanosecond. "Please, do forgive me — I was concentrating on…" A dismissive wave of his free hand. "… some rather tedious business matters, and didn't hear you come in."

"I would've thought you'd be expecting me," Bob retorted, "considering that you sent me an engraved invitation." He held up the chip that he'd found on the bed in his small apartment not a millisecond ago, a thin slice of circuit-embossed gold emblazoned with the green symbol he was coming to know too well. 

Megabyte managed to look down his nose, even from a seated position. "I'm afraid your reputation for taking your time responding to correspondence has preceded you. I wasn't expecting you for —"

"Cut the crap, Megabyte!" Scowling, he came two daring steps closer — well within close striking distance now, for a Class Three virus — and tossed the chip onto the table, where it spun to a lazy stop between a clear carafe full of more red liquid and an empty glass similar to the one Megabyte was currently holding. "I don't have time for games —"

"Strange, I thought that was rather the point of being a Guardian…"

Bob resisted the urge to raise Glitch and blast his opponent across the room. "You wanted to see me. I'm here. And it better not be to ask me for another 'favour'."

For a long moment Megabyte said nothing — just studied his guest, his right hand resting lightly on his upper knee and his glass of wine almost raised to his enigmatically curved lips. Meeting his gaze squarely, Bob had to admit something else: that the program in front of him was nothing if not impressive. His powerful build certainly advertised the speed and strength Bob knew he was capable of, but Megabyte no mere hulking monster: he was quick-witted and decisive, poised and cultured, devastatingly intelligent and relentlessly eloquent, all of which would have been admirable qualities if they hadn't been wedded to the amoral deviousness and lethal ruthlessness of a whip-snake. As charming as the virus was trying to be, Bob knew better than to trust an iota of what he was seeing.

Still, he did have an amazing voice on top of everything else, even if his next words feinted in a surprising direction: "I do hope you haven't taken that nasty business with the tear personally, Bob."

Bob shrugged nonchalantly and folded his arms. "Not really. Screwing people over is what viruses do, right?"

Megabyte smiled pleasantly, revealing a dangerous flash of silver teeth, and chuckled low in his throat. "Indeed… I'm so pleased you see it that way. But of course I'd expect _you_ to take the long view: after all, you've had the benefit of an education beyond anything the parochial sprites of this backwater system could even begin to aspire to." He gestured elegantly toward the floating table. "May I offer you some wine?"

Bob considered that for a nano, then shrugged again. "Sure, why not?" After all, he'd come this far for the chance to best Megabyte yet again: he'd might as well enjoy the amenities while he was here. Since there were no other chairs in the vicinity he took a seat on the other end of the couch in response to another inviting wave of Megabyte's very large hand, damping down the powerful intuition that he was now _much_ too close, and also took the precaution of using Glitch to scan the contents of the carafe, even though he was pretty sure he'd already recognized it. "Huh. Neurowine. You don't fool around."

"As I'm sure you're also aware, the pathetic vintages you sprites consider intoxicating have absolutely no effect on viral formats. We're made of far sterner stuff." He affected a look of mild concern as Bob poured himself three fingers of the glowing crimson liquid. "I trust your Guardian protocols can handle —?"

Bob knocked back a defiantly casual mouthful, feeling the burn of it instantly shoot all the way down to the soles of his feet. "Let me worry about that, okay?"

It was Megabyte's turn to shrug. "Suit yourself," he replied with studied indifference as he settled back, changing his orientation just enough to "face" his guest: _I could care less_ with a side order of _I'm watching you very closely indeed, Guardian_. Bob was rapidly discovering that he was in the presence of a master at speaking volumes while saying nothing at all. "However, if you pass out I won't promise not to take full advantage of the situation."

"I wouldn't be much use to you unconscious," Bob pointed out; he'd never admit it, but he was already starting to feel a little floaty around the edges. The last time he'd had neurowine, on a bet at the Guardian Academy, it hadn't hit him anywhere near this fast. Obviously Megabyte could afford a far more potent formulation. 

The virus's smile turned more predatory. "Oh, really?" he murmured with a gilding of innocence that only highlighted the wickedly dark insinuation beneath. 

Bob blinked at him, startled by the sudden change in the tone of the entire conversation. Much too close… "Yeah," he said, trying to project a certainty he didn't entirely feel while edging away imperceptibly. "Really."

Some of his nervousness must have leaked out anyway, because Megabyte smirked, clearly amused. "Oh, don't worry, Bob — I was only thinking of how decorative you'd look, sprawled on your back across my couch." His gaze parsed every pixel of Bob's body in a way that made the pleasant buzz of the neurowine suddenly feel secondary. "That uniform harmonizes remarkably well with your hair and your skin… and, I must also say, highlights the colour of your eyes to _most_ effective advantage…"

There it was again, that silky purr that Bob had heard before and instantly recognized, only this time it raised his core temperature by a considerably higher margin than when he and Megabyte had last jousted with words. _He's — User's code, he's actually_ flirting _with me!_ That was unusual in itself — viruses of Megabyte's class weren't known for desiring much beyond territory and power — but, well, he clearly enjoyed wine, didn't he? And gorgeous furniture. And fine art. 

And maybe…?

The shift in tone was startling. Bob's abrupt realization that he really didn't mind was far more potentially disturbing.

"Why, Bob!" Megabyte's cold eyes narrowed and glowed. At such close range his voice seemed to take on a palpable texture, vibrating subtly in Bob's bones. "You're blushing!"

"Yeah, right," Bob scoffed… but he could feel the heated flush on his face. "Well, what'd'you expect?" He held up his glass, now one third empty, to prove his point.

"I'd have expected a Guardian to hold his liquor more competently, for one thing," the virus sniffed, and extended his right arm along the back of the couch before taking another refined sip from his own glass. "Clearly you're very cheap to entertain. I'll have to have you over much more often."

"Smartass," Bob muttered into his glass, preparatory to taking another swallow just as big as the first. Disturbing, yes — but undeniably exciting, and Bob's Academy profiles had all concluded that he was a thrill-seeking personality _par excellence_. It occurred to him that Megabyte might well have read those profiles: Phong had, after all, said that the virus had bad file servers in almost every sector…

 _He also said to keep your friends close — and your enemies even closer._ Bob was pretty sure the elder sprite hadn't had _this_ in mind when offering that piece of sage advice, but he cursed silently as the implications sank in and he felt the tint on his cheeks deepen. He kept his attention on his drink, thinking furiously through the heat of the neurowine and the awareness of those golden claws so close to his neck: _Dammit, Bob, get a grip! This is a_ virus _we're talking about — I mean, sure, you flirted with him first, but that doesn't mean you —_

"What a charming shade of mauve you're turning," Megabyte remarked, and when Bob looked up he found a smooth smile on those green lips and a malicious gleam in those keen eyes. 

 _The hell it doesn't_ , Bob had to admit with a sudden sinking of his heart. He'd originally flirted to tweak Megabyte's tail, because he hadn't thought a virus would respond in kind, but above all because the impulse had seized him with the force of pure instinct — because something about being in this "man's" physical presence had woken him up in ways he'd seldom experienced before, ways that an image on a vidwindow hadn't. But doing anything about whatever insane attraction he might be experiencing was out of the question. For one thing, the Guardian Council would have his read/write head on a silver platter if they ever found out he'd fraternized with the enemy — and for another, viruses and sprites didn't share physically compatible formats. 

 _But there are rumours… Oh yes, even if the Council doesn't want anybody talking about them._ And judging by the expression on Megabyte's face as he subtly shifted again, turning more towards Bob and leaning a significant couple of pixels closer with a more suggestive curve of his damnably smug mouth, the offer was on the table to teach Bob exactly what lay behind them. A cold chill washed down his spine and effectively banished the intoxicating effects of the neurowine as he stared up into those alien eyes and felt his core-pulse quicken in response to what lurked there.

" _That's_ why you asked me here?" He spoke barely above a whisper as the blood rushed from his face on its way to other parts of his anatomy. "To… you're crazy!"


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's important to keep in mind that at this point in the chronology Bob hardly knows Dot, and while he finds her attractive he's not yet in love with her, so that particular conflict of interest isn't on the table.

Megabyte raised one eyebrow ridge fractionally, his gaze never wavering and his diction as silky as a serpent's glide: "I'm sorry, but you must be confusing me with Hexadecimal."

Even the thought of Mainframe's Class Two virus, who promised to be a significant pain in the ASCII at some future point, wasn't an effective distraction as far as Bob was concerned: his mind was racing in several different directions at once, but all of them kept coming back to the very solid body in front of him, drawn there by the nearly physical force of Megabyte's charisma turned up to (presumably) maximum volume. He'd read plenty of accounts of non-Guardian sprites being enthralled by the persuasive powers of this type of program, but he'd never expected to be on the receiving end of it himself, and he'd sure as Dell never expected to want to leap into its gravity well and see what lay at the bottom of the fall. 

He abruptly realized that he'd mirrored Megabyte's most recent approach, turning his whole body to face the virus more directly. With a blink and a little shake of his head he managed to get a critical bit of cognitive distance, enough to voice some resistance. "Look… there's obviously been a misunderstanding here. If you thought for one nanosecond that I was interested in —"

"Oh, come now, Bob!" Without looking away he extended his left arm and set his half-empty glass on the table, then neatly plucked Bob's glass from his unresisting fingers and put it aside as well. "Protest all you like, but let me remind you that _you_ made the first overture."

"Me?" It came out as a high-pitched yelp that made him mentally kick himself and modulate his voice to a more decisive register — or try to, anyway, because the way Megabyte's hand had come to confidently rest on his right knee was pushing it into the upper registers again. It didn't help that the unrepentant liar was only stating the truth. "I don't know how much you've had to drink, but that's the most ridiculous thing I've heard all minute!"

"I see." He was studying Bob's face critically, including the blush that was rapidly reasserting itself. "So your pupils are dilating purely out of fear? I must say I'm disappointed… Guardians are supposed to be so much braver than the common rabble."

"Dot doesn't seem that scared of you," Bob countered, stalling for time enough to figure his way out of this.

"Ms. Matrix is a unique individual — but she is not the topic under discussion." His fingers tightened ever so slightly, the edges of his claws imprinting Bob's body armour in a threatening way that sent a cold chill racing up the sprite's spine. "Don't try to lie to a master, boy: you wouldn't have accepted my invitation if you weren't at least passingly curious…" His shining eyes grew hooded as his voice dropped to a husky timbre that Bob remembered all too well: "….about any number of things."

Anger surfaced through the complex mix of emotions — amazement, distrust, disbelief, and yes, lust — swirling in Bob's core. To hell with retreating. He leaned forward aggressively. "What makes you think that I'd even consider doing… whatever it is you do… with my worst enemy?" he demanded.

Another brief rumble of laughter from that broad chest. "We're not enemies, Bob — not yet, anyway. We just happen to be on opposite sides in an ancient conflict of interests." His left hand released Bob's thigh and rose to brush the backs of sharp steel talons lightly back along the line of Bob's jaw, his voice equally caressing: "Which doesn't preclude an entirely different sort of alliance, as you well know: otherwise you wouldn't have opened the door to admit the possibility in the first place."

The audacious intimacy of that touch turned the cold chills suddenly hot, but Bob's eyes narrowed in a furious glare, and he leaned even closer for emphasis. "I'm a Guardian," he stated flatly, because that was the response that covered all the bases.

Megabyte's smile was full of triumphant venom. "But you're here nonetheless," he observed, and curved his fingers around the back of Bob's neck before closing the final pixels of distance between them, pausing at the verge of contact only long enough to murmur: "And you certainly haven't pulled away, have you…?"

Bob closed his eyes and braced for… what? It shouldn't have felt like much of anything. He'd touched metal before, hundreds of thousands of times: this was just one more instance, even though this time the hard shapes in question were being pressed to his lips. No big deal, and once he'd proven how stupid the whole idea was he could finish his wine, slip in a couple more cutting quips, and get back to the way the Guardian/virus game was supposed to be played. Simple, right?

It shouldn't have hit him like a Mac truck; it shouldn't have been so devastating, like two magnets of opposite polarities meeting; it certainly shouldn't have made him reach out compulsively to find mechanical contours waiting for his touch, the gleaming silver of the virus's sides barely yielding beneath his clutching hands. It shouldn't have sent a wave of desperate heat through his entire body and hardened him almost instantly, but somehow he wasn't as surprised by that as he should have been either.

The shattering sensation in the vicinity of his heart must have been the sound rules make when they're exploded from within, mined along fault lines that couldn't have been there all along — but must have been, because the result was so immediate and so unequivocal. He heard himself utter a startled exclamation of half-protest that quickly became a demanding little moan as he gripped tight and leaned in further, returning the kiss with an urgency that Megabyte met with refined power, restrained but clear to be felt in more ways than one: the inherent energy of their formats met and clashed in the contact, dimmed by the differences in their paradigms and refusing to mesh seamlessly as the fields would merge between two sprites. Nevertheless it was an electric sensation, full of tension and conflict, and it sent Bob's pulse racing in a way that the easier harmony with his fellow sprites never had.

On second thought, maybe it wasn't that shocking: after all, he'd never been this close to a dragon, in a position where he could easily be deleted in any number of ways. Even a nanosecond's inattention on Megabyte's part and the thumb-tip now tracing the curve of his cheekbone could have fractured the bones beneath; the fingers encircling his nape could have broken his spine; the arm that slipped smoothly down to the small of his back to draw him even nearer, until he was practically sitting in the virus's lap, could have crushed his more fragile format. But they didn't, and that was exciting in a way that Bob didn't have time to parse right now: he was too busy trading kiss after kiss, forceful and light, teasing and aggressive, as his own hands began to explore the "skin" of his much larger partner in an _Oh User, I can't believe I'm actually doing this!_ sort of way.

 _Dot would killfile me if she knew_ , a voice in the back of his mind whispered, but even the image of her trim smiling beauty seemed distant in comparison to the subliminal hiss and burn of clashing energies wherever his unclad format touched Megabyte's. The part of him still capable of analysis noted that the textures of the virus's armour were different with each change of colour: slick and cold where it was silver, covered with subtle embossed patterns on the blue, noticeably warmer on the gold detailing, hottest where it burned viral green. He was just getting used to that, and to those heated kisses, when Megabyte pulled away enough to angle his head to his right and lean in again, parting his lips more to reveal a deadly gleam of silver teeth — and to permit a long slick tongue even darker than his primary armour to glide out, only a little thicker than Bob's forefinger and far more dextrous. It snaked around the left side of the sprite's neck just above his uniform's collar and writhed leisurely up toward his ear and jawline, providing an even more potent hit of viral code that seethed through Bob's nervous system — and reminded him yet again of their fundamental incompatibility. 

Still, he didn't try to disengage. His hands slid down to grip Megabyte's hips, an unfulfilled gesture of pushing him away, and that was all. "We can't merge," he managed to blurt out, his eyes drifting closed again as he tilted his head back under the dark sensual assault. "Our formats… my protocols…"

Class Threes relied on projection rather than articulation to shape their voices, so Megabyte's ability to speak — and very sexily, too —  wasn't appreciably hampered by what his tongue was currently doing. "Oh, there are ways around that — and so many other things we can do besides." 

Bob's eyes snapped open again, to stare along the length of Megabyte's crimson crest. "How the Dell would you…?"

"This isn't my first time, Bob — even though it's very clearly yours." That devilish tongue curled around the back of his ear — and when, exactly, had _that_ become an erogenous zone? — then slid back toward Megabyte's lips, taking its time progressing over Bob's skin in a way that generated a ripple of ridiculously penetrating heat, because it implied… oh, all sorts of things that Bob's superior officers would have file-locked him for even considering. "My tastes have always been rather… eclectic, from the point of view of others of my kind." The tongue-tip flickered off the tip of Bob's chin, then slithered back into the virus's mouth. Megabyte reared back just enough to gaze down into Bob's eyes, and his left hand released Bob's nape to run an edge of claws both promising and menacing down the sprite's spine. He was smiling so smugly that the impulses to blast him into the nearest wall and to pull him even closer clashed savagely in Bob's mind. "Although I must admit that I've never had a Guardian before. This should prove highly educational, wouldn't you agree?"

"You can say that again," Bob asserted — and, in those five words, seized both the moment and the perilous possibilities it offered. How could he possibly pass this up? After all, what Guardian had ever had this kind of opportunity before, to learn so much about a previously unknown aspect of viral functioning and culture? 

 _Nobody that ever admitted it_ , the voice of reason declared, _considering what would happen to them if they did._ He resolutely ignored it. 

Life had suddenly gotten a lot more complicated, but Bob had never been one to back down from a challenge — even one of this magnitude. Even one that could delete him in a heartbeat if the tone of their interaction suddenly turned sour. Especially one that was looking at him like this, as if he was the only thing on the Net that mattered… for this moment in time, at least. Somehow he got the feeling that very few people had been on the receiving end of that kind of attention from this particularly arrogant source… and what did neurowine have to offer in comparison to that kind of intoxication?

[TO BE CONTINUED…]


End file.
